Eyes Of The Void Novels & Stories

A cloud of black smoke coalesced, twisting into a monstrous silhouette with burning violet eyes. The Voidborn emerged. "H̶e̶r̶.̶ ̶G̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶u̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶a̶r̶-̶t̶o̶u̶c̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶.̶"

“For Elyra.” The Void Star’s core surges from crystal depths, claws of shadow slashing, eyes hollow voids, hum rattling bone. Its crystalline heart pulses, shadow-coils writhing within, screech splitting stone. The new figure—Nyxara—raises their blade, hymn aligning with the Void Star’s, eyes glinting. “It rises,” they murmur, void-runes flaring. Kalia’s orb flares, aura steady, eyes distant, a vision seizing her—the Void Star’s core, crystalline, tied to her orb, its light the key. “Aelys!” she gasps, fingers tightening, voice urgent. “It’s now!” I shield her, blade striking shadow-claws, sparks searing, Lena’s spark surging, hymn steady.

The liquid glowed violet, the feather floating on the surface like a boat on a troubled sea. Nyra’s breath caught as the liquid roiled, and a vision flickered above: a vast council chamber carved from black marble, ringed by pillars of bone. Hooded elders knelt around a stone dais where a jagged throne awaited the Void‑born god. A voice layered over the vision: a collective chant that thrummed in Nyra’s ears. “We call the Void… we call the Void…” She staggered back, hand flashing to her throat. The whisper now echoed in her mind, indistinguishable from the elders’:

Lucien whispered, and for the first time, Rhea saw a flicker of genuine fear in the vampire’s eyes. Rhea looked up through the jagged skylight. The black sun of the eclipse was gone. In its place, the sky above the Frozen Wastes was tearing open, revealing a bleeding, violet rift that spanned from horizon to horizon. And in the center of that rift, emerging from the very fabric of the void, was an eye. It was colossal, a swirling nebula of dark matter and dying stars. The pupil was a vertical slit of absolute blackness, an abyss that seemed to suck the very light out of the cathedral. It didn't look down at the world; it looked down at her.

Olivia POV Two enormous crimson eyes slowly opened in the darkness. In the eerie silence of the Void, those eyes burned like glowing embers, blazing a deep crimson against the endless black. They did not blink. They simply stared at me, cold and emotionless. The eyes shifted. Slowly. Deliberately. Only the crimson glow moved through the darkness while the rest of its body remained swallowed by the black void, as though the darkness itself refused to reveal what lay beneath. I stood rooted to the spot.

Light exploded, the cage cracking, the void staggering, her shadows retreating, the shadow’s scream—my scream—echoing, but the mark burned, and I saw it: her, the void, not gone but here, her white eyes in mine, her shadows in my blood, the trinity not three but four, the Veil’s truth a lie. Lucian slashed, his blade sparking, Killian’s staff cracking, Mara’s knife flashing, but the void’s shadows were endless, reforming, the mirror pulsing, the chaos closer, the Veil fraying. I grabbed Lyra’s hand, her shard warm, her voice—my voice—fierce. “Together!” We drove the dagger and shard into the ground, light erupting, the cage shattering, the mirror collapsing, the void’s scream—my scream—mixin

"Agite Tenebrae Abyssi" Calling fort, black and long hands emerges from the same lines and points of the transmutation circle. As the eye is drawn and opens in the middle, she smiles back looking towards it as it pins its sight towards her. With the eye’s black, deep and somehow taunting stare, she let the hands wrap around her hands, waist, and feet. Falling into the abyss as she let her body be shallowed unto the eye, she draws a satisfying smile, and all in a second and a few ticking times she opens her eyes as the white void opposite to what she knew towards the dark void of dreams, greeted her.

They swarmed out like a black tide, hundreds of them, their formless shapes blurring into a sea of oblivion as they drifted toward our defensive line. I watched endless void shadows pour out of the rifts like a black tide. Our balanced barrier was holding, but it was rapidly weakening. Fenrir's voice rang out grave and desperate. "The scout was only a distraction. The Void is sending its army." A massive rift in the center of the sky tore open wider than all the rest. A towering, colossal void figure slowly emerged from the pure nothingness. It was far larger, far colder, far more ancient than the faceless messenger.

He stood perfectly still, his back to them. As they approached, he turned. His face was a featureless mask of smooth gray stone, yet his eyes were unmistakable—yellow, glowing with the malice of the Void, identical to the eyes of the Stalkers. ​“He’s not a Stalker,” Dave whispered, his hand hovering over his blade. “He’s... a vessel.” ​The figure moved, not by walking, but by shifting through the air, his movements erratic. Then, a second figure emerged from the fog and a third.

"They think they can sit behind their desks and watch us dissolve. They forgot that I am the one who holds the light." She didn't wait for an invitation or a bridge. Elara reached out with both hands, her fingers dripping with the thick, obsidian Vespera ink. She didn't touch the rock or the air; she grabbed the **White Void** itself. To the Pack, it looked as if she were grabbing a handful of empty space, but as her claws sank in, the white light groaned. It crinkled like heavy parchment. With a violent, guttural roar of effort, Elara wrenched her arms apart. The Void tore.